Children of the Northern Cold
by Miss Mungoe
Summary: Far removed from the rest of the world, they are each other's keepers. – Briggs soldiers old and new; a collection of ficlets set before, during and after the series. Nakamaship, plus the occasional Olivier/Buccaneer.
1. Doctor, Doctor

AN: This will be a collection of short-to-long pieces centred around various characters from Briggs, both the infamous and the lesser-known ones. They won't necessarily be in chronological order, but beware of spoilers for the whole of Brotherhood. Rating will be from K-T. It's mostly only nakamaship, but because this is _me_ there'll be the occasional Olivier/Buccaneer, but you can skip those if it's not your cup of tea.

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and its characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa; I own nothing. The title of this particular piece is shamelessly borrowed from Robert Palmer's 'Bad Case of Loving You'.

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**Children of the Northern Cold **

by Miss Mungoe

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–_**Doctor Doctor, Give Me the News**_

Characters: Doctor, Neil, Random Soldier  
Rating: K+

She didn't look like the Major General.

Actually, on second thought, saying that was a gross understatement; she looked absolutely _nothing_ like the Major General. Of course, that was neither here nor there, but sometimes Doc wondered if her life wouldn't perhaps be easier if she just let her hair grow long. Then again, no matter how long she grew it it would never have the same _flair_ that Major General Armstrong's mane had. It would probably just end up looking awkward, the way it had when she'd tried growing it out in medical school. And it would just get in her way, really, and with all the field work she did, she couldn't have her hair flopping around, falling into open wounds and the like.

She wondered sometimes how the General managed.

Running a hand through her hair, Doc muttered under her breath as she concentrated on the neat row of stitches she was making, though her thoughts kept drifting. It was the handsome soldier – the one who'd transferred from East last month, and who had the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen on a grown man. And really nice, long lashes, and thick, auburn hair that never seemed to be out of place. It was distracting, to say the least. Of course, in her line of work she was used to seeing men of all types and in various, distracting states of undress, and she'd learned to manage. But Nice Eyes was making it difficult, and he wasn't even looking at her, which made it worse, really. Because if there was one thing of which Doc was pretty damn certain, it was that most men in Briggs were rather oblivious to the fact that she was, in fact,_ a woman_.

"Hey, Doc, would you help me with this? I think something's gotten knocked loose in my automail." The tightening of a screw later, and she'd get a grin and a rough slap on the back, and, her favourite:

"Thanks, Doc! You're a right pal!"

It wasn't that she wanted to be seen as a woman _first_. Quite the contrary, she prided herself in her profession and her skill and was glad not to be met with the same prejudice a lot of women in her line of work were neck-deep in. She was a Briggs bear to the marrow of her bones, and that meant doctor first, woman second. The others just didn't seem to have gotten that last part.

At all.

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Officer Nice Eyes had one automail leg, and so it was only natural he'd drop by for check-ups with Neil, and in which case Doc was often called for a consult.

Today she'd found it written on a sticky-note stuck to her morning coffee, and was proud she'd only spent a minute in front of the mirror trying to make her hair lay flat before blatantly giving up the whole endeavour as she made for Neil's automail shop on the lower level. And because she was a little late, she caught the mutterings of a conversation from down the corridor as she rounded the corner, but she wouldn't have thought anything about it, if she hadn't heard them explicitly mention her name.

"–East is pretty different, yeah. But Briggs has got to have the best women."

There was a snort from Neil. "Better watch what you say there, or the General will want to have a word. And by 'word', I mean she might chuck you off the side of the Fort."

Nice Eyes laughed, in that bashful way that was just a little too boyish for Briggs. "Ah, no, that wasn't what I meant! East doesn't have a lot of female soldiers, and the few we've got are pretty silly. They're nothing like the women here, was what I meant. They're strong as bears!"

Neil barked a laugh. "Yeah, you've got that right. Our Queen runs us all hard, regardless of gender. Ain't no easy way here, only the Briggs way."

"But it's quite something, though. From the rumours I'd thought the General would be something else, but she's an incredibly fair leader."

"No truer words spoken, mate."

"And then there's _Doc._"

"Yeah, Doc's a treasure. Won't find a medic who can stitch a wound faster this side of the Wall. Would be a lot more casualties in our ranks without her, that's for sure."

Nice Eyes was quiet a moment, and Doc lingered awkwardly in the corridor, but decided that it would be pretty rude of her to barge into their conversation _now. _She could...wait a moment, until an opening presented itself. "She's very professional. It's almost a little hard to get to know her personally."

Neil hummed. "Well, the General's the same. It's got a bit to do with keeping up appearances, I think. Not always easy, being a woman in the military."

"Yeah, I guess. But they're doing alright, I think. Hard to think of them as women, sometimes, but I guess that's the way you do it in Briggs, huh?"

"Yeah, that about sums it up. The Boss Lady isn't overly fond of the whole gender issue – she prefers to think of us all as soldiers first."

"Ha, so I've gathered. Doc the same way, then?"

"I dunno – why don't you ask her?" And there was a _smile_ in that voice, Doc realized just a little too late, before Neil called out, "What do you say, Doc? Are you a soldier first or a woman?"

Stepping into the shop, she caught the twinkling in his eyes that told her he'd known she'd been there all along, and resolved to find some way to make his life a little harder. "You already know the answer to that, Neil," she said, as she put her empty cup of coffee down on the table with a little more force than strictly necessary. The mechanic only grinned back shamelessly, and Nice Eyes watched the silent stand-off with that innocent-but-_oh_-so-endearing look on his face that would probably see him dead before the year was over. _Poor cub. _She silently lamented the inevitable loss of such striking good looks – it was a rarity in Briggs, to be sure. The pretty ones were always the first to go, and the ones who stuck around, the veterans, couldn't hope to claim much in the appearance department.

But he was looking at her now, she realized, with the kind of admiration that told her he was more than certain that if he ended up on her operating table he'd make it out alright, and it rubbed her pride exactly the right way. And there was a gleam of the awestruck sort of respect that followed the Major General around in those unfairly gorgeous eyes, and she found that it didn't really matter that she didn't have the General's hair – she could turn eyes just the same, as it appeared. _What do you know. _

Ignoring Neil's knowing look, Doc set about checking Nice Eyes' automail-socket, taking her sweet time and answering all his eager questions with a patience spurred on by the admiring smile on his pretty face. It was perhaps taking advantage of things, not to mention it was the kind of shameless self-indulgence she'd never been one for partaking in. But then again, she wasn't the Major General, and it wasn't often those kind of looks were directed at her, and so Doc indulged. Shamelessly_._ And when she was done and he shyly asked her if she wanted to grab a cup in the mess, she grinned sweetly–

–and politely declined the offer, and when she strode out of the shop, fingers tapping a jolly tune against the side of her coffee mug as she left the two sitting in her wake, she wasn't sure who was gaping the most.

But seriously, she had patients today. Damn fine eyes or not, she didn't have time to just grab a coffee in the mess when there were soldiers bleeding all over her medical wing. _Men, honestly. Thinking with the wrong heads half the time, it's a wonder most of them are still alive enough to bleed. _She shook her head with a fond snort. Then she ran a hand through her hair, adjusted her glasses on her nose and grinned. She was a woman, make no mistake, but she was a Briggs bear before anything else.

And the prettiest eyes in the world couldn't hope to change _that_.

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AN: I find it immensely interesting that the only name found for this woman is 'Briggs doctor lady', but I've settled for calling her 'Doc', as it seems a plausible nickname.


	2. Telephone Man

AN: Karley's beard gives me life. (If the name doesn't jog your memory, it's that dude with the van dyke and the undercut who operates the telephones during the siege of Central).

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and its characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa; I own nothing.

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–**_Telephone Man_**

Characters: Karley, Olivier Armstrong, Random Communications Officer  
Rating: K+

As he was in charge of Communications in Fort Briggs, Karley's patience had been worn pretty thin over the years.

"No, I'm afraid the Major General is not available at the moment. N-yes, I understand it's urgent, yes, _yes_ I know it's Central business, but they're out on patrol and I can't very well go outside to fetch her, now can I?" He rolled his eyes. "No...no I wasn't..._sassing_ you." He held the receiver away from his ear to keep from losing his hearing completely, and glared at the officer opposite, who seemed far too smug for his own good. He tried again, "Listen–" but the person on the other side didn't seem to hear him.

He resisted the urge to rub his temples as the irate shrieks drifted out from the mouthpiece. He was a highly trained military official stationed at the bloody northern frontier, but the idiots in Central seemed happy to treat him like a goddamn receptionist. And it was amazing what passed for _urgent_ these days. Karley knew urgent – urgent was a war about to break out, not some asshat in Central who'd somehow gotten his pride injured by the Major General and wanted a word with the woman. _What the hell did you tell them this time, Boss Lady? _

Casting a longing look at the clock on the wall, he stifled a groan. Lunchtime was a way off, yet, and his coffee was getting cold. _Ah, to hell with this. _He made a grab for the piece of tin-foil sitting at his desk, putting it up to the mouthpiece and crumpling it loudly and said, with a practised ease he'd spent years perfecting, "Terribly...sorry...it...trouble with...weather. I'll...sure...let...General–"

Then he hung up, dropped the tin-foil and grabbed his coffee. _Ah, still warm. _

"You're going to pay for that later," his partner reminded him.

"Maybe," he said, "But I diverted the Major General's father last week when he called, which in no uncertain terms means she owes me a favour." He grinned, and shrugged. "Besides, it's snowing now, right? I wasn't lying. We're always having trouble with the weather up here."

His partner snorted. "On your head be it, Karley."

Karley waved him off. "I'll take my chances."

The door to the communications office was thrown open then, admitting the Major General herself, fresh in from patrol from the snow clinging to her hair and the shoulders of her heavy winter coat. She threw one look at the coffee in his hand, the tin-foil at his elbow, and her nose wrinkled. "Central again?"

Karley hid a smile. "Afraid so, ma'am."

"Who was it this time?"

He rooted around in his memory for a name – he had asked for one, he was sure. _Oh, yes, this was the sourpuss. Sour. Happy. Happy as a lark. Clark. Major Clark! _"A Major Clark, ma'am. He was quite eager to talk to you."

She pursed her lips, and then recognition flickered across her face. "Good grief, not the one who sounds like he never hit puberty? What the hell does he want _now_?"

Karley saw his partner choke on his coffee, but kept himself from grinning. "He wouldn't say, sir. All he said was that it was urgent."

She snorted at that. "I know what Central considers _urgent._ I trust you diverted him?"

Karley nodded, but didn't look at the tin foil. "The weather, ma'am. It can't be helped."

She smiled at that – the kind of smile that told him he'd get a night off in North City if he asked nicely. "Well, we can't do much about that. Any other messages?"

Now Karley _did_ smile. "None from your family, sir, aside from your father last week. Would you like me to put you through? I did tell him I'd tell you to call him back."

She glared at him, and he kept his grin from growing. _Jackpot_.

"Been long since you had some time off, Officer Karley?"

He shrugged for good measure. "A little while, perhaps. But I'm not complaining, sir."

She raised a brow – he was fooling no one, and they both knew it. But they both also knew how persistent Philip Armstrong could be if he wanted to. "Do enjoy yourself, Officer. I hear North City is throwing a celebration this weekend. The annual Meat Roasting Festival or some such nonsense."

He nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll make good use of the time."

She snorted, and turned for the door. "Oh, I'm sure you will."

Then she was gone in a flurry of golden hair and dark fabric, and Karley was left, grinning into the open space with a cooling cup of coffee in his hands. He leaned back into his chair languidly. His partner shook his head. "One of these days she is going to kill you for that cheek."

Karley grinned. "No, she won't," he declared. "If she does, who's going to redirect her family when they call?"

His partner shook his head. "I still think you're treading on dangerously thin ice."

He shrugged. "Then it helps having a life vest at hand, now doesn't it?" Throwing a glance at the silent telephone, he sipped his now stale coffee, wondering if he could somehow convince her to let him take the whole weekend off. It would require another favour, to be sure. He looked at the telephone again, and considered the smell of roasted bear meat and tankards of dark ale. And pretty, pretty tavern girls with low-cut blouses not at all sensible in the cold weather. _Alex Louis Armstrong, if you have any sense of timing you will call to have a chat with your dearest sister today. _He grinned into his cup, and caught his partner rolling his eyes out of the corner of his vision, no doubt knowing exactly along which lines he was thinking. But he wasn't called out on it, because at the end of the day, they all had their own ways of making the long, cold hours of service a little shorter and a little less cold.

And patience thin-as-a-sleet-of-ice or not, manning the telephones _did_ come with a few perks.

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AN: I imagine her family calls a lot – they seem like the type of people.


End file.
